


Soul War Games

by Heavenlea6292



Series: Soul War Games [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Meg Lives, Mental Hospital, Multi, Not Slash, Stuck in Sam's Head, well sorta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:57:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenlea6292/pseuds/Heavenlea6292
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(NOTE- Read Part 2 first "All Your Sad Little Thoughts And Feelings")</p><p>SEASON 9 DIVERGENCE: Sam has been trapped inside his head with the last person he expected as company- Meg. But with her help, he might be able to find whatever it is inside him and kick it out. It's like a big video game, but the closer they get to the answer, the more dangerous the game becomes. <br/>And what happens if you die inside your own head?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul War Games

Sam woke up at Meg’s gentle shift, his eyes fluttering open. He looked up at her groggily, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes. It was strange, to feel safe around any demon, let alone Meg. But he did, and it felt good. He didn’t feel so helpless and alone with her there. Meg looked around, a strange expression on her face. They were no longer in the void; now sitting on an uncomfortably hard cot in a plain room.

“How long has it been?” he asked, dazed. She shrugged, her fingers still tangled in his hair and scratching his scalp gently.   
“Dunno,” she replied, sighing, “It’s not like it matters either way.”   
Sam didn’t move at first, satisfied with her answer. What did it matter? He was safe here. The aches and pains that had accumulated throughout the years of being hard on his body had ceased to exist- there was no dull, throbbing ache in his shoulder from when he’d dislocated it as a kid, he didn’t feel the snaking shots of pain through his feet and up his ankles from all the hard landings from jumping off things; he didn’t even feel the stiffness in his knee from that time John had knocked him down the stairs in one of the many houses they had rented, the rusty nail from the old floorboard tearing open the skin and leaving a wide scar.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam demanded, sitting up fully as her statement actually hit him. She shrugged again, her arms wrapping around her knees.   
“Face it, Sam,” she said, “We’re not going anywhere, not until Dean saves you.”   
Sam scowled, turning away. He wanted to argue, to yell at her that she was wrong, but they both would know it was just a lie. She looked strangely fragile at that moment, small in a way that he’d never seen before. He reached out to touch her, maybe to comfort her, only to have his hand slapped away.   
“Don’t,” she said, staring straight ahead, “This isn’t about me. I’m stuck here no matter what; maybe I’ll move onto wherever demons go when they die, but either way it’s not like there’s some beautiful paradise waiting for me.” She glanced at him, “I don’t need your pity, nor do I want it. Stop pitying everyone, Sam. Pity does nothing for anyone. You should know that better than anyone.”

Sam did. If there was one thing that tore him apart more than anything, it was people looking at him with pity. He’d felt it since he was a child, teachers and friends and hunters. Angels. Especially demons. Especially the one sitting next to him. All of their pity never saved him from anything in this world, and his pity wouldn’t save them either. It was strange and upsetting, being so happy and relieved to have Meg with him. Meg shouldn’t be there, Dean or Bobby or Cas or hell, even Kevin should’ve been there- but not Meg. Not another demon. It never escaped his notice that the only beings that ever sided with him, that ever saw his point of view and told him he wasn’t bad or wrong was demons. He wondered sometimes if it was an automatic thing for them, to side with their own. After all- he had demon blood in him, and the Trials didn’t seem to have had the purifying effect that he had hoped. Not if Meg was hanging around.

“Something on your mind?’ Meg asked, looking over at him with a hint of curiosity on her face. Sam shrugged, mirroring her position, his knees pulled up to his chest.   
“Yeah, actually,” he said, “Still wondering why it’s you. Wondering if it’s automatic for you to side with me.”   
“I’m not keeping up here, Sam,” she replied, raising an eyebrow, “Care to expound a bit?” He sighed, rolling his shoulders.   
“You’re a demon; I have….demon blood in me. Birds of a feather…you know.”

Meg laughed, shaking her head vigorously.   
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” she said, “I’m not siding with you because you have .001% Demon blood from that one time Azazel gave you his special brand of Ovaltine. I’m siding with you because it’s about fucking time someone did. If I was a human, I still would. Everyone needs someone in their corner.”   
“But I don’t want you in my corner,” he replied angrily, “I want Dean, or Bobby or someone else- not you.”   
“You keep forgetting that this is your brain, Sam,” she said, turning to face him fully, “Whatever you see here, it’s all on you- not me. I’m not pulling any strings. You don’t want me, then make me go away.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against his temples.   
“Go away go away go away,” he muttered half-heartedly. He didn’t want Meg to go. Not really. He opened his eyes and looked over, seeing her grinning at him.   
“So, how’d that work out for ya?” she asked.   
“Shut up.”   
“Touchy.”   
“You would be too if you were trapped inside your brain with a demon that possessed you once and has been dead for a good few months.”   
“Good point,” she replied.

She looked around the room again, poking Sam, “You get a load of this yet?” Meg nudged Sam to get his attention again, sliding off the bed and feeling the coarse carpet under her feet. She wrinkled her nose, walking over to the door that had no lock on the inside, looking out the round window. They were in a hospital. Mental hospital, if she had to hazard a guess- and not the nicest one either.   
“Wow,” she murmured, “It really has been a while since I’ve been in here.”   
“Oh yeah?” he asked, “I guess it has been. Things change a lot?” She looked back over her shoulder at him, rolling her eyes.   
“Uh, yeah,” she said, “Last time it was more ‘A Few Good Men’ and less ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’.”   
“You’re obviously a Jack Nicolson fan,” Sam replied, chuckling. Meg wrinkled her nose.   
“It was a law office last time,” she replied, looking back out the window. Sam felt a shudder pass through him at that. 

“Oh,” he replied, leaning back against the wall, “And now it’s the loony bin with all the crazies.”   
“That’s a bit offensive,” she replied, not bothering to look back at him, “Not all crazy people are loonies, and not all loonies are crazy people. Your dad was crazy but he sure as hell wasn’t a loony.”   
“You don’t know shit about my dad,” Sam snapped, “So don’t pretend you do.” Meg turned around, folding her arms and leaning against the door.   
“Sam,” she said, “Everyone knows your father was a crazy, obsessed bastard. Bobby, Ellen, Rufus, Gordon. Hell of a good hunter, but ya kinda have to be crazy to be the best at something 80% of the world doesn’t even know is a thing. You wanna talk loonies? You and your brother- you’re loonies. Mostly-Okay-Martin Creaser, now there’s a loony deluxe.”

She walked over, plopping down on the bed next to him.   
“See, crazies and loonies are two completely different animals. A loony is someone who’s mentally ill. There’s a real, legitimate diagnosable problem with loonies. They really don’t even hurt anyone but themselves for the most part. Loonies- or as decent people call them, the mentally ill- they’re sympathetic. Now, crazies? They’re mentally ill, yeah. But they’re aggressive, unhinged, wild, and unpredictable. They don’t fit a textbook. They don’t just deny being crazy, they will fucking tear you apart for suggesting it. Your Dad? Not a loony. A certifiable Crazy? Oh hell yeah. “   
“Pardon me then for getting the two mixed up,” he replied, rolling his eyes, “When did you become such an advocate?”   
“Since I spent two months in the mental hospital you were holed up in taking care of every other patient there along with Castiel,” she replied, “There’s something…nice about them, the people in there. They’re real. They aren’t like you and your brother- they’re there because their brains make it literally impossible for them to disguise what’s happening inside. It manifests outside. I could tell with a glance whether or not they were having a good day or a bad day. You ask them why they’re there, they don’t lie. They don’t pretend- well, besides the patients that those sort of actions are common. All I’m saying is, You ‘normal’ people look down on them like they’re freaks. Maybe they aren’t the freaks. Maybe they’re just too honest.”   
“I don’t look down on anyone,” Sam snapped, glaring at her.

“Oh yes you do,” she singsonged, laying back on the bed, “You think you’re better than me, and you think you’re better than every other demon- which, frankly you’re right about that, but the bar isn’t set too high- but yeah, you look down on everyone who’s worse off than you. You pity them, just the way you hate it when anyone else looks at you with pity. Funny, isn’t it? It’s okay to do it to others, but not when others do it to you.”   
“You’re sounding less and less like a demon and more like an annoying jiminy cricket.”   
“Always let your conscience be your guide,” she singsonged again.   
“If I did that, it’d be guiding me off a cliff.”   
“You sure that’s your conscience?”   
“Pretty damn sure.”   
“Sounds more like that guilt complex that you developed when you were 9.”   
“I hate that you were in my head once.”   
“Isn’t it just rotten when someone makes you confront all those skeletons rattling the handle of the closet door?”   
“Yeah, especially when the thing doing it shouldn’t know about any of those things.”   
“I’m not a thing, Sam.”   
“You’re a demon, aren’t you?”   
“And a demon is a soul. And you are a soul. So, you must be a thing too, by that logic.”   
“I never said I wasn’t.”   
“You know, most humans grow out of the self-loathing by the time they hit 30.”   
“I was always a late bloomer.”   
“That’s not what I heard around the water cooler.”   
“I can only imagine what you’ve heard about me around the water cooler.”

Meg laughed, lying back against the rough hospital-grade wool blanket. He looked over at her, rolling his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet.

“You think this is funny?” he demanded, running his hand through his hair, “I’m trapped in here, with you, with no idea what’s going on out there!” he yelled, pointing out the door, “I have no idea what is inside me, and I have no idea why you’re still here. Dean could be dead, everyone could be dead right now, and I don’t know if this, this thing inside me did it! And here you are, laughing about it and making jokes about what you heard about me from other demons. You know, maybe I was wrong- maybe you haven’t changed.”   
Meg sat up, looking him evenly in the eye.   
“You’re the one who said I changed, not me,” she said, “But all that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here, and I’m the best hope you’ve got right now. I’ve told you a few times- you don’t want me here, fine. But I can’t make myself go away. So, I reiterate for your poor hearing, make me leave or let me help.”

Sam slapped his palm against the wall angrily, looking back to her.   
“Fine. Then tell me how exactly you can help me. Do you know what this is, or how I get it out? You would be the expert, seeing as you’ve had to deal with being the possessing party.”   
She glared at him, sitting up once more.   
“Cold, as always,” she snapped, “Here’s the thing. Demons let you see everything that’s happening outside. We’re kind of shitty like that, we don’t care. You can’t really force us out- not unless you’re some kind of wonderful. Besides- you have that nifty little sticker on your chest, so a demon can’t get in.”   
“So?” Sam demanded.   
“So?” she repeated mockingly, “So, obviously it’s not a demon, Sam. Now tell me, what else could be tucked away inside you that would really want to make sure you didn’t know it was there?” She stood up, standing toe to toe with him. “Think about it Sam. What can possess a person that isn’t a demon? A witch? Maybe, but you’d be conscious, wouldn’t you? A specter, maybe a ghost, but hey, you’d still be conscious, wouldn’t you? Or maybe you’d just have a gap. No- whatever has you locked up in here doesn’t want you to know it’s here. They need you not to know it’s here.”

“An angel, is that what you’re saying?” Sam demanded, his voice panicked.   
“Ding, we have a winner,” she replied, “An angel. And no, before you go panicking, it’s not Lucifer. He’s locked up snug as a bug in a rug with Mikey and Adam. This angel has a lot to lose right now, and a lot to gain by playing bunkmates. All the angels falling, some of them are more than just your run of the mill dicks. There’s some real trouble here, Sam.”   
“So, how do I kick it out?” he demanded, “Shouldn’t me knowing about it kick it out? How did it even get in, I didn’t give an angel my consent…”

Meg folded her arms, looking away.   
“Don’t worry about the how. Let’s just worry about knocking it out.”   
Sam grabbed her shoulder, yanking her to face him.   
“What aren’t you telling me?” he demanded. She sighed.   
“Sam…don’t you remember?” she asked, “You agreed to Dean. The thing took the form of Dean to get in. Dean did it to make sure you wouldn’t die.” Sam reeled back, hitting the wall. She was right- they had argued about it in the void. Dean…Dean had let this angel inside him.   
“He must’ve thought it was the only way…he wouldn’t do it unless it was the only way.”   
“Does that make it right?” she asked, looking at him seriously, “Sam, I’m not saying you should hate your brother, but don’t look at this through your notoriously rose colored Dean shaped glasses. You do that, you’re gonna be trapped here, and this angel is gonna do whatever the hell it wants.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Sam muttered, “I just…” Meg grabbed his arm, pulling him back to the present.   
“Sam, focus,” she said, “Compartmentalize. Right now, you can’t deal with Dean. Right now we have to ignore how it got in and focus on how to get it out, okay? “

He pulled away from her, rubbing his arm as if her touch left scum on his skin.   
“Why should I trust you,” he muttered, looking at her with wide eyes, “Why should I trust anyone? Everyone has a price. What’s yours?”   
“You know why you should trust me, Sam. You know exactly why,” she replied, “I don’t have a price, Sam. You know why I’m helping you- don’t make me say it again. Now, are you going to listen, or not?”

Sam didn’t reply, only shrugging.

“Fine,” she said, glaring at him, “We wanna get out of these illusions that thing keeps locking you in, so you have to take back control.”   
Sam sighed heavily, sitting on the bed.   
“Yeah, fine. But how do we do that?” Meg looked back at him over her shoulder, tossing her hair.   
“Think of this as a really big, fucked up video game,” she explained, “This is your noodle. We find our way around, play some chutes and ladders, find the little fucker and kick it in the ass.”

She got up, walking across the room once more and trying to see out the window. She stood on her tip-toes, looking around.   
“Your brain is basically a miniature heaven,” she said, “It’s something people do whether they realize it or not. Your brain will basically compartmentalize everything, making different sections and levels. But everyone has a default zone. Yours used to be a very large, very fancy law office.”   
She glanced back at him for a moment, “You had a desk next to a window.”   
Sam bit his lip, looking down.   
“What…what makes it change?” he asked. She looked back out the window, shrugging.   
“Good things, bad things. Your brain isn’t exactly a constant thing. It changes, grows, evolves. You used to think that you belonged in a law office, best as I can guess. Now you think you’re destined for the mental health floor.”

Sam nodded, getting up and peeking out the window with her.   
“Can you blame me?” he asked quietly, looking down at her. She shook her head.   
“No, not really,” she said, “After all, we’re trapped in your brain and you keep yelling at me to leave.”   
“Shut up,” he said with a short laugh, nudging her with his hip. She stumbled a little, grabbing his arm to keep herself from falling over.

“Where are we?” she asked, glancing up at him. He bit his lip, his brow furrowing.   
“As far as I can tell, we’re in that hospital I was in when Lucifer wouldn’t let me sleep,” he said, “But I don’t see why I’d pick here as my ‘default zone’, as you called it.”   
Meg laughed.   
“You think you get to pick your default zone?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow, “Only if you consciously build yourself a mind palace. Everyone has one, they just don’t really know it. It builds in their subconscious.”   
“Mind Palace?” Sam said, “Isn’t that from BBC’s Sherlock?”   
“Shut up,” she snapped, “Crowley had a thing about BBC programming. It was one of the few useful things I picked up.” She snorted, rolling her eyes, “Sherlocked. Are you kidding me? She was a fucking lesbian…” She paused, looking back up at him, “Anyways, yes it’s the same idea. But you don’t have as much control. Yes, there are some places you can control through meditation and all that, but you have to understand that most of your mind is on autopilot, beyond the control of your conscious mind. “   
“This is gonna sound stupid, but is that what they mean when they say that we only use, like, 10% of our brains?”   
“Sort of. What people don’t seem to realize is that your brain is made up of so many different parts, and there’s a reason you can’t control them. Regulating your body, producing speech, instinctual responses; you can’t consciously access these things because if you could, you’d fuck them up and probably end up dead.”

“But you don’t have a brain.”

“No duh. Don’t make me explain the whole Brain to Soul thing…besides; didn’t you notice that we need a human vessel to actually get anything really done? Brains are needed to operate human bodies. A person can survive without a soul- you did, lots of people do; more than you realize. But a soul isn’t specifically your brain, nor is your soul specifically your consciousness. But a human body without a brain or a functioning brain? Useless. Think of the human body as a car. Your body is the vehicle; the brain is the engine, your consciousness is the gas, and the soul is the oil. You wouldn’t knowingly drive a car with no oil; but it’s possible to do it. Some engines, especially well-worn engines, will last a bit longer than others without oil; but the longer you run without oil, the higher your chances are of fucking up the engine for good. That’s the whole idea- no soul, you can still function. But the longer you go without a soul, the more complicated things get. But you can’t even run a car without gas. Sure, it sputters and putts along as it uses the last of the gas, but after that, you have a very large road ornament. That’s the same idea with human bodies. You can have a soul and a brain, but without the consciousness, you aren’t going anywhere or doing anything. That’s what happens to people in comas. Their soul is very possibly still in there, but without their consciousness, they can’t do anything. “   
“Did you just explain one of the deepest human questions in existence by comparing it to a car?" Sam asked, chuckling and shaking her head. She smirked.   
“I know. Demon, conscience, mechanic…it’s a wonder I’m still single.”   
“If I get out…what will happen to you?” he asked seriously. She shrugged, trying to disguise her worry.

“I don’t know,” she said softly, “This part is new to me.” He nodded, turning to face her with his shoulder pressed against the door.   
“Okay, I think I’ve kept up so far,” he said, “But if I don’t have control of most of my brain, how exactly am I supposed to kick this thing out?” She turned to face him, mirroring his pose.   
“Basically, we just have to look for anything that doesn’t seem right. You’d be surprised when it comes to your brain- it wants you in control as much as you do. Which is kinda like saying you want you in control as much as you do, which is stupid-“   
“Come on, Meg,” Sam said, snapping, “Let’s stay on track.”   
“I don’t like being in here,” she said, looking at him, “It’s weird. I don’t usually lose focus like that. Your brain is stupid and I want to get you in control of it again so I can stop being aware of how it’s affecting me.” Sam nodded, stepping back from the door.   
“You and me both,” he replied, “So, anything out of the ordinary. And then?” She shrugged.   
“I don’t know,” she said, “Every brain is different. Then we wing it?”

Sam shrugged back, lifting his foot and kicking the door open.

“Good enough for me.”


End file.
